Oblivion
by M'rika
Summary: 'You can't just run to the arms of a stranger every time something bad happens.' Marlene deals with a death the only way she knows how. Sirius does his best to help. Oneshot.


An: This fic is inspired partly by the two hours that I spent on my own in a pub, partly by the sleazy men who hit on me whilst at said pub, and partly by 'Mourning Bride and Mulberry' by Lady Altair. (hopefully this link works: .net/s/3992777/1/Mourning_Bride_and_Mulberry#) Enjoy.

Oblivion

"Hey, can I have a double rum and coke?"

Marlene was on her own in the bar, though she didn't intend to be that way for too much longer. She'd been in here for two hours now, steadily drinking, having progressed from coke, to rum and coke, to double shot vodka and coke, before switching back to rum. She'd left her jacket over the chair, along with an almost empty glass, hoping this would deter any chair thieves. Her table had been hard-won and she didn't intend to give it up.

As she sauntered back to her table, her short skirt swaying, she wondered if her friends would ever get here, before remembering that she hadn't contacted them. That though this was a routine pub visit, she was doing it solo. She sat back down in the still vacant chair and surveyed the busy pub.

There were a few decent looking men, although a couple of them had already experienced the full pleasure of her company. She was gazing at one curly haired man in particular, wondering if the girl he was laughing with was his sister or his date, when a blonde sat down opposite her.

"Are you wearing any knickers?"

She raised an eyebrow, but grinned lazily. "If you'd been at the bottom of the stairs a moment ago, you'd know."

"Well," he began, mock bashfully, "My mate distracted me, which I will never forgive him for."  
>"I hate to break up a friendship," she told him, sipping form her drink, the burn of the alcohol barely registering. "So, in answer to your question, yes, yes I am." Her grin spread a little wider and became slightly more knowing. "But maybe I won't be for much longer."<p>

He pulled his chair closer to hers and rested a hand on her knee. His palm was warm but dry, which she had to respect. So many men had clammy hands, whether due to the weather, nerves or just their DNA.

"And why might that be?" he asked, sounding deadly interested, as though she were discussing the crisis in the Middle East.

"I'm not sure," she replied, leaning closer as his hand inched up her thigh, under her skirt. "Sometimes I can be very whimsical."

"Really?" His gaze was still concentrating intently on her face, even if his hand wasn't. "I hope I'm around to see these flights of whimsy."

She was so close to him she could feel his breath on her face. "Mmm," she murmured. "I hope so too." She closed the gap, her lips finding his, pulling him closer by the lapels of his shirt.

"McKinnon." The voice was stern, and she recognised it even before she pulled away from the stranger to look at the man to whom the voice belonged.

"Black." Even if her words didn't, her tone of voice said 'fuck off'. "What do you want?"

"Is there a problem?" the blonde stranger asked, obviously not too concerned, as his hand was still perilously close to getting them arrested for indecent behaviour in a public place.

"No," Sirius told him, broadening his chest in a move clearly designed to intimidate. "Not if you leave now."

"But we were just getting to know each other," the blonde protested, glancing at Marlene. "Tell him baby."  
>"Would you fuck off Black?" she asked sweetly. "I don't stop you from doing whatever the hell you want."<p>

Sirius pulled her to her feet, causing the stranger to complain and gesticulate and Marlene to scowl and curse. "McKinnon, you're coming with me," he said sternly, as though she were an errant teenager. "And as for you," he spat at the blonde, "stay the hell away from girls too drunk to protest."

With those parting words he half dragged, half guided her outside. The night air hit her like a wall, and instantly brought an edge of sobriety to her, as well as more anger. "What the fuck are you doing?" she demanded loudly, as they walked away from the pub.

"You can't just run to the arms of a stranger every time something bad happens," he told her, his voice riddled with the kind of cold, calm anger that he did so well.

"Watch me," she spat, turning to return the pub, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her dangerously close to him.

"You've got to face up to it sometime," he told, his dark gaze meeting her furious one. "She's dead. And it doesn't matter how many people you fuck or how much vodka you down, she will always be dead."

"Fuck you." Her voice was quiet now, cracking on the word, and she stared studiously at his chest. "Fuck y-" She couldn't complete the last word, and she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears that were clouding her vision fall.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I know you and Dorcas were close, but-" His words were cut off as she pressed a violent kiss on his lips, but he wrenched himself away, holding her at arms' length. "McKinnon," he said firmly. "I know I'm not the right person to be telling you this, but this isn't the answer."

She hung her head, all the drinks of the past two hours catching up with. "She loved photography," she breathed. "And films. She was making a scrapbook. From first year to seventh," Marlene said, addressing the floor. "She wrote little captions, and she'd put," she gasped for breath. "She'd put stickers all across the pages. I told her it looked like kid's diary, but she just laughed at me. Said I'd see the true artistry one day." She stopped, biting her lip, fighting the sobs that were bursting to come out. "Black, I don't- I can't-"

He roughly pulled her close, hugging her while the tears fell. "It'll be alright," he murmured into her hair. "One day it'll stop hurting."

Her arms wound around his waist and held him so tightly, he worried for his circulation. She mumbled something into his pectoral muscle and he had to push her away slightly so he could understand. "I don't want to be alone."

"Stay at ours," he told her quietly, dropping a kiss into her hair. "Remus'll make you tea, and you can cry on my T-shirt some more."

She nodded, looking up in a desperate attempt to stop more tears falling. "Thanks," she whispered. "You're nice."  
>He offered her a smile and tousled her hair affectionately. "You always seem surprised."<p> 


End file.
